Upon St Crispin's Day
by riccinbru
Summary: This story is a direct sequel to the Romantic version of Fortune Favours: Decoy. When Ducky gets homesick for England, Tony and Kate get a bit more than they can handle. This story contains Shakespeare.


**Upon St. Crispin's Day**

"Watch out for Ducky," Gibbs said quietly as he walked past Tony's desk.

Tony looked up from his paperwork, catching an undertone in his boss' voice. He watched Gibbs go back to his desk and sit down behind it. Picking up the ever-present coffee cup that rested there, he took a sip, and his eyes briefly made contact with Tony's as he did so. A stone fell into Tony's stomach. "Oh no. Not again." A wry half-smile was the only acknowledgement Gibbs gave him. Tony groaned and dropped his head to his desk. "No no no… I just got _over_ last time."

The blurred text of the paper his forehead rested on was the only thing he could see, but he could plainly hear the confusion in McGee's voice. "What's going on?" he asked slowly.

"Every once in a while, Ducky gets homesick," Tony said.

"For England?"

"No, for apple pie and amber waves of grain." This couldn't be happening. He wrapped his arms around his head, hoping that maybe if he hid, it wouldn't be true.

He heard a muffled noise, the familiar purposeful march of Kate's footsteps on the carpet, before her voice sounded. "Ducky just asked me how my French was, and then told me not to make plans for October 25th. He was very… forceful."

It _was_ true. Damnit.

"Then I suggest you don't make plans for the 25th, Kate," Gibbs said. "I suggest none of us make plans for the 25th."

"No," Tony said, straightening. He put his hands on his desk and stood, leaning over it. "No, I'm _going_ to make plans. I'm going to be out of the city. That's right. I won't even be here."

Gibbs shook his head. "Won't work, Tony," he said, leaning back in his chair.

Tony hit his desk with one hand. "I'm not doing it again, Gibbs! Never again."

"I don't think he has cricket in mind. It's never the same thing twice."

Tony collapsed back down in his chair and covered his face. "But it's always humiliating."

"Speak for yourself."

"Why couldn't it have been soccer? I can play soccer."

"Okay… What's going on?" Kate interrupted.

"Apparently, Doctor Mallard gets homesick for England on occasion," McGee answered. "But I'm not quite sure about the rest of it."

Tony dropped his hands. Looking at Gibbs, he knew his boss would never warn them about what was to follow. It wasn't fair for them to go in cold. "Four years ago, Ducky got a bunch of us together for a dinner party. Traditional English food. Three years ago, he took us out for a fox-hunt. _Two_ years ago, he tried to teach us how to play cricket."

"Tony's upset because four years ago, he had a stomach virus, three years ago his horse threw him, and two years ago, he made an error that cost his team the win," Gibbs said.

Tony smiled sarcastically. "Thanks, Boss."

"So…" Kate looked from him to Gibbs and back. "It sounds like a yearly thing. What happened last year?"

"Nothing," Tony said. "I was hoping he'd gotten over it."

"Nope," Gibbs said, taking another sip of his coffee.

Tony tried not to glare at him. "But you see, when Ducky gets like this, he's impossible to argue with. He's _obsessed_." He didn't so much as make an indication in Gibbs' direction, but he saw Kate's eyes sparkle in amusement. She, at least, had understood his implication. "And you can't get out of it. If he says you're going to be there, you'd damn well better be there."

"And indeed you should, Tony," came the doctor's voice from behind him.

Tony shot up out of his chair as Ducky came around the corner. "Ducky, hi," he said, turning on what he hoped was a genuine smile. "Kate was just telling us about the 25th. Gee, you know, I think I might have plans…"

The glare Ducky turned on him dried up the words in his mouth. "Young man," he said. "If you have plans, I suggest you reschedule. And you as well, Timothy. I expect to see you both that evening, is that understood?"

Tony nodded mutely as McGee stammered that, no, he didn't have plans, he would be happy to attend, Dr. Mallard. With all his quirks and foibles, long-winded story-telling and idle chit-chat with the bodies he examined, it was easy to forget that there was a spine of steel at least as strong as Gibbs' in Donald Mallard.

At their hurried capitulation, Ducky softened. "Excellent. I will provide you with more details as we come up on the date. Now, since I've done my duty and extended the invitation, I suppose it's once more unto the breach, my friends. I'll be in Autopsy if you need me." He casually waved his hand, then turned and started for the elevator.

Tony watched him go, aware that both McGee and Kate were watching the doctor as well, but that Gibbs was watching them. When the elevator doors closed, Tony sat back down. "I'm so dead," he said under his breath.

"Wow." Kate turned back and looked at him. "Was that really Ducky?"

Glancing at his calendar, Tony grimaced. "Three days. Do you think I can get myself, I dunno, hospitalized in three days?"

Gibbs' only response was to smile and drink his coffee.

It was late in the Sunday afternoon of their weekend on, and Tony was getting decidedly more antsy. Ducky had provided them with an address for tomorrow night's torture, and he'd googled it, only to find that it was a church. _Tell me we're not getting an Anglican sermon_. Now he sat, trying not to think about what was to come. On the day where all he wanted was a distraction, there didn't seem to be anything forthcoming.

A new mail notification popped up on his screen, and he seized upon it. When the message opened, he was almost disappointed with the brevity. He'd hoped for a long, detailed letter from Rebecca, maybe. Then he read it.

_Dinner?_

_K-_

He didn't dare look across at her. So far, they'd kept Gibbs from noticing anything (he thought), but right now, he couldn't trust himself to keep his relief and gratitude from showing. He clicked the 'Reply' button.

_Hell yes._

_T-_

He hit 'Send,' then went back to shuffling paper, listening to the sounds from the cubicle across from his. First, the click of a mouse, then a pause. Another click. A little bit of typing. A final click. He glanced at his screen. The new message notification was back. Surreptitiously, he looked over at Gibbs. He appeared to be engrossed in a report from Guantanamo Bay that had come in that morning. But appearances could be deceiving. So Tony kept at his paperwork for another few minutes, then casually turned back to his computer.

_Mazarini._

_K-_

It was done. And unless Gibbs got blind carbon copies of every email they sent (somehow he doubted it, given his difficulty with beepers), their boss was still in the dark. Email was much subtler than passing notes across the aisle.

He looked up at Kate and found her watching him out of the corner of her eye. He gave her a bare nod. The corner of her mouth rose slightly, then she turned back to her own stack of papers.

The prospect of dinner with Kate proved to be an admirable distraction, and suddenly it was five. Kate started to pack up, and Tony jumped up and did the same. "Plans for the evening, Kate?" he asked.

She looked over at him, amused, as she put on her coat. "Food, I guess. Getting ready for tomorrow."

"Trust me, you _can't_ be ready for tomorrow."

She laughed. "Good night, Gibbs," she said, putting her purse over her shoulder and starting out.

"Night, Kate," he replied, not looking up.

Tony waited the requisite few moments so it wouldn't look like they were leaving together, then turned off his light and stepped out from behind his desk. "Night, Boss."

"DiNozzo." Tony froze in his tracks, then turned around. "If you get food poisoning tonight, I'll know why."

_He knew, he knew, damnit…_ But there was a teasing, easy look on Gibbs' face, not the kind of look he would have expected had his boss known about him and Kate. Tony quickly reprocessed the sentence. "Boss, come on. You think I would stoop to that kind of low, underhanded ploy just to get out of Ducky's party?"

"Yes."

Tony grinned, more with relief than anything. "You know me too well."

"See you tomorrow, DiNozzo."

"Yes, Boss."

When the elevator doors closed on him, he breathed out a sigh of relief. Talk about dodging a bullet.

Kate's car was already gone from the parking lot by the time he made it out; she would have heard Gibbs stop him, and would have known to keep on walking. How he'd ended up with such a smart woman, he'd never know. He got into his car and made his way out into traffic. By using back-roads and various shortcuts, he estimated he got to the restaurant ten minutes later than he would have if he'd just stuck to the major arteries. The parking lot at Mazarini was fairly empty, being a Sunday night, and he parked right next to Kate's car. He got out and took two steps towards the restaurant, then stopped, turned around, and jogged down to the florist down the street. He managed to make it inside before they closed, but the proprietor gave him a dirty look when he only bought a single red rose. Well, to hell with him. Purchase made, he went back down the street to the restaurant. Spotting Kate sitting with her back to the door, he told the host he was with her. The host smiled knowingly as he brandished the rose, and let him through.

He knew better than to sneak up on her, so as he came up to the table, he shrugged out of his coat and hung it on the nearest coat stand. He saw her head turn slightly at the sound. Knowing it was safe, he came up behind her. Putting his free hand on her shoulder, he leaned down and kissed her just behind her ear. She turned and smiled up at him as he straightened, and her smile broadened as he held out the rose. "I was wondering what took you so long. I didn't think it was just Gibbs and your shortcuts." She took the rose from him delicately.

"I needed to give you something as… a measure of my gratitude," he said formally, sitting down across from her. He tried to keep a straight face as she fixed a look on him, and lasted about two seconds. Then he grinned. "All right, how about just a romantic gesture? You pick dinner, I pick flowers?"

"Better," she said. She smelled the rose, and her eyes drooped a little in pleasure. "Much better."

He reached out and took her free hand. "I'm glad," he said, leaning across the table slightly as he brought it to his mouth. He delighted in seeing her blush, but let her retreat before she became too embarrassed. "Did you order wine?"

"Half litre of house red," she said. "Hope that's all right."

"Fine by me." He opened his menu.

"What did Gibbs want?"

"Told me not to get food poisoning." He looked up when she didn't respond. "Reparse, Kate."

Her look of stunned horror shifted as she reanalyzed the sentence. Then she relaxed. "Thought you'd try to get out of tomorrow night?"

Tony nodded. "But don't think I didn't think of the other first. I nearly had a heart attack."

She sighed, and reached out to him in an uncommon public gesture. He took her hand and squeezed it gently. "Secrets suck."

"Yes, they do. But secrets also keep you from getting fired, and me from being killed, or at the very least, both of us from being subjected to an interesting Gibbs lecture on relationships in the workplace."

"No one's business but ours," she said. "It sounds so easy… in theory."

"Everything does, love."

She smiled. "I like it when you call me that."

"What, love?" He ran his thumb along her knuckles. "I like _calling_ you that." Then he released her, knowing through a month's practice exactly how long he could touch her in public before she became uncomfortable. He looked at the menu. "Any thoughts?"

They ordered, sipped wine as they waited for their meal, talked. He was still trying to keep the names of her brothers straight, but it was getting easier, especially with all the stories she was telling him. She seemed to want him to understand where her issues had come from, and a good deal of them seemed seated with her siblings. So he listened, and replied with stories of his childhood. The food came, and they shifted topics. She was reading a book, and it was confusing her a little. He was happy to act as her sounding board. She was always at her most beautiful when her eyes lit up with some kind of mental challenge. Finally, though, he had to assure her that he really was listening (he hadn't been, but…). She knew better, and after looking at him with amused tolerance, asked him if he'd started his Christmas shopping yet. They began to discuss holidays (Halloween and Thanksgiving were coming up, after all), plans, what they liked best about each. She laughed at his description of this year's Halloween costume idea. He loved making her laugh.

But all too soon, the meal was finished, the waiter had returned with his credit card, and he was helping Kate on with her coat. She held the rose delicately in one hand as they walked out; he had her other one wrapped firmly in his own. She pulled him to a stop as the restaurant door closed behind them.

"You want me to come over tonight?" she asked.

He looked at her, warring within himself. "I do, Kate," he said finally. "But I don't think you should. Not yet."

Her expression showed her disappointment, and a little hurt, and she looked away. "All right."

He put his hands on her shoulders, and she turned her eyes back. "Kate, please, try to understand. I _have_ to take this slow, or it might implode. And I don't want to do that to you. I don't want to hurt you."

She smiled up at him. "I know, Tony," she said. "I _know_."

Relieved, he hugged her tightly. "Thanks," he whispered. He kissed her, only once, then let her go. He took her hand again, and they started walking across the parking lot. "So, what'll you do tonight?" he asked.

She released his hand and leaned casually on her car. "Oh, I dunno. Go home, do the dishes, take a nice, long, hot bath…"

His mind was immediately filled with images: Kate, skin slicked with water and bubble bath or salts, relaxing back in a steaming tub, forehead slightly beaded with sweat, eyes closed… He barely registered the wicked grin she was trying to hide. He certainly couldn't stop the soft groan from escaping him, and then he had her in his arms and was kissing her, hard and passionately. When he had kissed her quite thoroughly, he bit her earlobe and whispered, "You are an evil tease, Kate Todd."

"Still don't want me to come over?" He could hear the laughter in her voice, even though he held her too close to see her face.

"Less than ever. But you'd better not." He kissed her again, then reluctantly let her go and walked around to the driver's side of his car.

"Tony?"

He turned back. She seemed suddenly uncertain and worried. "Kate?" he asked.

She bit her bottom lip. "I just want you to know… I might be…" She sighed. "Despite it all, I respect your decision."

He smiled at her. "I know, love."

"It's just…"

"I know. Soon, I promise."

She tipped her head slightly. "Soon?"

He nodded. "Yes. But not tonight."

She smiled. "Damn."

"No kidding." He leaned on the top of his car. "Go home, Kate. Go take your bath, and think of me pining away for you."

"That's no fun. You've just ruined it."

"Well then, think of me thinking of you in the bath. It makes me–"

"I know what it makes you, Tony."

He grinned at her. "Right then. Just do what comes naturally."

She laughed. "You're awful." She unlocked her door and opened it, but didn't get in. She turned back to him, a mischievous look on her face. "You have my number, if you want to… talk."

And he knew just what kind of talk that would be… Oh, the temptation… "Minx," he said.

She tossed her hair over her shoulder in an obvious affectation. "You know it."

"G'wan. Get thee to a nunnery."

"Ducky rubbing off on you, Tony?" He blinked at the apparent diversion in topic. "He's been talking like that all week," she said. "Haven't you noticed?"

"No," he said. "Has he really…"

Kate rolled her eyes and got into her car. "You're _so_ observant," she said before she closed the door. "Were you really a cop?"

"Hey–" But she'd shut the door. He spread his arms in a gesture of disbelief. She smiled her apology through the window, then blew him a kiss. He smiled at her, and placed his hand over his heart. Her expression softened, and saddened a little before she pulled it back under control. She started her car, waved to him, and drove away. Tony watched her go. When he thought she was far enough away, he swallowed hard and tried out the words he'd been fighting with. "I love you, Kate," he whispered.

The words hung frosty in the air for a few moments before fading away, but they echoed in his ears as loudly as if he'd shouted. He licked his lips. Sometimes words had taste, texture in the mouth; he rather liked the way these ones played on his senses. But he knew he wasn't ready to say them to her yet. He knew she wasn't ready to hear them. "Soon," he repeated. "Soon."

Amazingly, his car drove itself and him home. He kept trying to make it turn towards Kate's place, but it just wouldn't go. So he really had no choice once it had maneuvered its way into its parking stall but to turn it off and head up to his apartment. He closed the door behind him, turned on a light, and threw his keys on the kitchen counter. He looked around. It was exactly the same as he'd left it that morning. He took his shoes off, crossed to the den, and threw himself onto his leather sofa. He lay there, staring at the ceiling for a moment, drumming his fingers on the back. Then he glanced at his coffee table. There was the TV remote. Right next to it was the cordless phone. His cell was also digging into his side. Adjusting, he unclipped the cell and put it on the table. He stared at it for a little while. _No,_ he thought. He reached for the TV remote. Only when he'd half-dialed Kate's number did he realize he'd picked up the cordless instead. He swore, cancelled the call, and put the phone back down, picking up the TV remote.

He was not distracted by the moving pictures and noise today, though. All he could see was Kate getting ready to take a bath. The images in his head taunted him. He was home, so he was pretty sure he could get himself to stay here. But to hear her voice… He would ask her to describe exactly what she was doing…

Throwing the remote back to the coffee table, he sat up and rubbed his eyes. _No!_ he told himself firmly. _Something else. Think of something else._

Ducky. The following day's torture. Yes, that was right. Focus on that.

He got up and began to pace, hoping the movement would keep him on track. Kate was right, now that he thought about it. Ducky had been speaking rather oddly ever since he'd made his decree. He was surprised he'd never noticed it before. Maybe that was because his mother was always dropping Shakespeare into regular conversation. He did it too, sometimes, if the situation warranted. So it didn't strike him as odd. But yes, on reflection, Ducky had been quoting Shakespeare quite a bit over the last few days.

He came to rest by the window, looking out into the night. Was that it? Was Ducky going to make them sit through some Shakespeare? Well, that wouldn't be so bad. He'd been doing that since he was eight. He couldn't screw that up, could he? Well, not unless he was sitting next to Kate, and couldn't help but reach over and hold her hand during it…

No, not thinking about Kate.

Shakespeare, huh? No, that wouldn't be bad at all. He rather liked some of the plays. He also liked the fact that he'd figured it out. A smile eased onto his face. Yes, he _had _figured it out. Oh, he had to let Ducky know! The man loved his surprises, but was forever dropping obscure hints in the hopes that someone might have the brains to put it together. No, first thing tomorrow morning, he was going to go down to Autopsy and tell him. Then he'd come upstairs, and wait for Kate to show up, ask her how her evening went…

_No_.

But wait. Ducky had asked Kate how her French was. If they were just going to watch some Shakespeare, he wouldn't have asked her anything like that. All his other English nights had been active. Mind racing, he quickly processed the available facts. Were they going to be _performing_ Shakespeare? They were! God, Ducky was going to have them reading the lines! He had a wonderful mental image of Gibbs as Hamlet, trying to pull off a suicidal young prince: "To be or not to be, that is the question." He nearly laughed out loud. What fun! What play did Ducky want to do? Kate would make a wonderful Juliet…

He dug his fingernails into his palms. It was no use. Everything came back to Kate. He glanced at his watch. It was still really early, but what could he do? If he didn't go to bed, if he didn't make himself unconscious, eventually he would pick up the phone and call Kate. And one thing would lead to another…

He breathed out a sigh. "Damn," he whispered, his breath fogging up the window. "This is hard."

Hard, but so unbelievably worth it. He sighed again, then turned to lock up his house. As he turned off the television, he repeated his mantra, hoping it would give him strength. "Soon. Soon."

Ducky was alone in Autopsy the next morning when Tony whisked through the automatic doors. He struck a pose, though Ducky did no more than glance at him before going back to work. "But soft!" he hammed, "what light through yonder window breaks!"

"I had wondered," Ducky said, "which of you would figure it out. I thought it might be you, Tony. Your upbringing is so varied and eclectic."

"Thank you," Tony said, walking over and taking a seat on the empty table across from him. "Can I get out of it now?"

"No. Why do you ask?"

"I can't act."

Ducky looked up and smiled tolerantly at him. "Tony, you act every day of your life. Are you so afraid of one more role?"

"That's undercover," Tony said. "I haven't been on stage since school."

"That's not what I meant," the doctor said.

"I know." They looked at one another steadily for a moment, then Ducky went back to the human jigsaw puzzle in front of him. "So you won't let me out of your Shakespeare revue?"

"I rather like that," Ducky said. "Doctor Mallard's NCIS Shakespeare Revue." He looked up. "If you're any good, perhaps we could do a fundraiser for charity."

"Don't count on it. You're going to have a hard enough time with Gibbs as it is."

"Jethro? Yes, I suppose. But it will only be a sort of reader's theatre. Text and major stage directions, that's all. Even Jethro can't object to that."

"Suppose not. All right, prepare me. Who do I get to be?"

"I haven't decided yet. I'd planned to go through some of my favourite scenes rather than a whole play. I expect we'll all have plenty of roles tonight."

"Oh! Can I be Romeo?"

"I thought to save the balcony scene for Timothy and Abby."

Tony thought about it for a moment. "Oh, I want to see that," he said, grinning. "Right on, Ducky."

"I'll be a good director, Tony. You'll have your share of memorable moments."

"I don't doubt." He hopped off the table. "I wonder how I'll screw up this year."

"I won't hold prior bad acts against you."

"Thank God." He walked towards the doors. "Hey, Ducky," he said, turning before he reached them. The doctor looked up. "Why'd you ask Kate how her French was?"

Ducky smiled. "I've always liked the final scene of Henry the Fifth. I wanted to make sure that Caitlyn could handle herself."

"Oh," Tony said, and he knew the doctor was amused at his complete bafflement. "Sounds like fun."

"Oh yes. It should be quite entertaining. It's one of my favourite scenes."

"Maybe I'll read up on it."

"I suggest that you do. Then you won't be caught unprepared. Keep it to yourself until tonight, would you? I do love my surprises."

"No problem, Ducky."

Behind Tony, the door breezed open, and Palmer came in. "Ah, Palmer, you're here. Excellent. I've been attempting to piece together the trachea this morning, and–"

Tony quickly left the room before the conversation got technical and went back upstairs. Try as he might, he couldn't remember what the last scene in Henry V was. He'd never really paid much attention to the histories. The office was quiet when he reached his desk, and he looked around cautiously before opening a web browser and searching for the text of Henry V. The first link provided him with the full text of the play, and he quickly called up Act V, Scene ii. He started to skim the text, breezing over the political talk until he found the lines Ducky intended for Kate. He started to smile. Oh, yes, he remembered this. It would be fun watching Kate and Gibbs do this scene. It would be Kate and Gibbs, of course, no question. The victorious king of England? No way that role would go to anyone else. He continued reading, his smile growing broader as he imagined the way the scene would play out. And then his stomach bottomed out and his smile dropped away, and he stared at the screen, at the horrible, betraying words.

_King Henry: _O Kate, nice customs curtsy to great kings. Dear Kate, you and I  
cannot be confined within the weak list of a country's fashion.  
We are the makers of manners, Kate; and the liberty that follows  
our places stops the mouth of all find-faults, as I will do yours,  
for upholding the nice fashion of your country in denying me a kiss;  
therefore, patiently and yielding. Kissing her. You have  
witchcraft in your lips, Kate; there is more eloquence in a sugar  
touch of them than in the tongues of the French council; and they  
should sooner persuade Harry of England than a general petition of  
monarchs. Here comes your father.

Major stage directions; that was what Ducky had said. And it was right there in the text. Henry kisses Kate. _Gibbs_ kisses Kate. He saw it in his head, with all the graphic detail that such imaginings invariably produced: heard him admonish her to be patient, and to yield, and saw the kiss, tender and soft, and heard him expound upon the quality of her lips. He knew what kind of quality was there. Was he just going to stand by and let some other man, _especially_ Gibbs, kiss Kate? He would run down and tell Ducky that he didn't want Gibbs to be Henry, that's what he'd do. He had almost risen when he realized that Ducky would ask what his objection was. _No one's business but ours_, that was what he and Kate had decided. Flying down to Autopsy and bellowing that Ducky not cast as he saw fit would be the same as declaring to God and the whole company that he had a vested interest in who locked lips with Kate. But they'd never foreseen this kind of test to their relationship. Why would they? Who would have thought that Ducky would put on a Shakespeare revue, and insist on stage directions? What could he do but watch it happen? Nothing, not without giving away that Kate was his… His brain stalled on the appropriate term. Girlfriend was so pejorative, and she wasn't his lover (at least, not yet). Companion? Confidante? Significant other?

Wife…

"Morning, Tony."

He jumped out of his chair at Gibbs' casually delivered greeting. Gibbs and Kate were walking together from the direction of the elevator. He felt sick with jealousy and tension, and part of him wanted to throw down and have it out with Gibbs right now. He fought the instinct. He wasn't an animal. Painting on a smile, he said, "Morning, Boss. Morning, Kate."

"Tony," Kate replied, but as Gibbs outdistanced her to gain his own desk, she looked at him closely. He wasn't fooling her. He blinked slowly, and her brow furrowed slightly, but she didn't say anything else.

_I know, Kate. I was fine when you left me last night, and now I'm wound tight. I need to warn you. There has to be some way to get five minutes alone with you._

But Fate was a cruel mistress, as Shakespeare might have put it, because though he tried all day to find time to talk to Kate alone, he wasn't able to. After Gibbs had suitably teased him about his pale expression and lack of good humour, they went back to reviewing cold cases and tidying files. He thought his chance might have come when Gibbs went down to Autopsy to talk to Ducky and McGee was off chasing a paper trail, but then Abby came out from the lab to speculate with Kate about the evening's events, and by the time she left, Gibbs was back at his desk. So he worked hard, trying to keep his mind focused on something else, and it worked for the most part. He made a big dent on the stack of files Gibbs had dumped on him last week. But even the satisfaction of a good day's work was marred when, come five, Gibbs stood up and took his coat from the back of his chair.

"I should ask Ducky to do this more often," he said. "You get very efficient when you're not looking forward to something, Tony."

Tony forced a laugh, keeping the slavering Rottweiler of his ego firmly chained in a corner of his mind. He _liked_ Gibbs. He _respected_ Gibbs. Gibbs was _not_ his competition here. He did _not_ have to rip his throat out. "Come on, Boss," he said. "Paperwork's the only way to drag out a day. You know that."

"Did it work?"

"No."

Gibbs turned off his desk lamp and walked until he was standing in front of Tony's desk. He looked down at him intently, and his usual biting tone eased slightly. "Something else wrong?"

Christ, Gibbs was worried about him. But what could he say? _Do me a favour, Boss; don't follow the stage directions when Ducky has you playing King Harry, okay? Why? Because if you do, I might have to challenge you to a pistol duel at fifty paces._ "No," he lied. "Why would you think that?"

He shrugged minutely. Anything he might have said was preempted by Ducky's sudden appearance. "Come, friends! There's food at the venue, and much to do."

With a sense of dread deeper than anything he'd thought possible, Tony tidied his desk and shut off the electronics. Could he get lost on the way to the church? Would they buy that? He didn't want to see this happen. But no, it wouldn't work. If he didn't show, they'd call his cell, and he'd have to answer. Then Ducky would patiently give him detailed directions to the church. There was no way out.

Gibbs was interrogating Ducky about what he'd planned for the night, and McGee and Abby were looking on in amusement, so none of them noticed Kate put her coat on, gather her purse, and walk across to Tony's desk. He was putting his coat on as slowly as he could without being suspicious, but when she came over to him, he quickly settled in on his shoulders and turned to her. She looked up at him, and since she had her back to the rest of the team, her face showed her concern. "What's wrong?" she whispered.

Oh, but he wanted to tell her! He wanted to look at her with all the caring and emotion and love that was coursing through him, let her see the jealousy that churned inside him, take the kiss from her now, before Gibbs could take it from her later. But unlike her, the team had a clear view of his face, so he buried everything deep, and only shook his head a little. Her brow furrowed and she bit her bottom lip, and her fingers tightened on the strap of her purse. He smiled at her, some of the negativity in him melting away at her reaction. He wished she could touch him too, but they both knew better. Even a hand on an arm was too dangerous now. He motioned with his head that they should join the others. She sighed a little, but turned and crossed to stand next to Abby.

Because he was unsuccessful in his questioning, the moment Tony joined them, Gibbs decreed that they head out, and head out they did. McGee and Abby carpooled with Kate, as she would have to head back in this direction before heading home, but the rest of them drove individually. Tony turned up the stereo in his car. None of the CDs he had available suited his mood, so he had to make do with making it noisy. He took as many shortcuts as he could think of, but all too soon he arrived at the church. He was, of course, the last one to get there. The lights were off in the sanctuary, but were burning through the windows in the hall. Steadying himself, he got out of the car and went into the church.

There was an older man standing in the hall when he came through the doors, and it was obvious that he'd been waiting. The man smiled. "You must be Tony," he said. "Donald told me you'd get here eventually."

The man was so obviously the parish priest, and equally obviously such a good man, that Tony couldn't help but smile. "I am," he said, and extended his hand.

The priest shook it. "I'm Reg Masterton. Nice to meet you." He motioned vaguely. "Come on. They're waiting for you. I must say, I'm looking forward to this."

"You are?"

He looked back over his shoulder at Tony. "Yes. Donald has asked my wife and I to participate." He narrowed his eyes slightly, and stopped walking to turn completely around. "You're _not_ looking forward to it, I take it."

Tony also stopped walking. He could hear voices, faint down the hall. He thought about lying, but his Catholic upbringing didn't allow him to lie to a priest, even one of a Protestant denomination. "Not really."

"Any particular reason why?"

"I always screw up at these things." He paused, then added, "There are… other reasons, but they're more personal."

Masterton smiled. "All right," he said, accepting the omission. "Tony, all these people are your friends. They won't judge you, or condemn you. Don't allow your worries to darken your enjoyment of the evening."

Something made Tony stop him before he turned and continued down the hall. "Father?" Masterton turned back and looked at him expectantly. Tony swallowed, suddenly not sure what to say. "Father, I… The other reasons… They're… She…" Masterton narrowed his eyes, and Tony realized that he'd somehow said too much. He shook his head, trying to hide his blush in the dimness of the hall. Why did he always get so _honest_ around men of the cloth? "Nothing," he said. "Lead on."

"Tony." The sympathy and kindness in Masterton's voice made him look up. "Trust Donald, trust your friends, and if you believe in Him, trust in God. All will be well."

Now it was Tony's turn to narrow his eyes. There was a connotation to the priest's words, one implied by his deep gaze and fathomless sympathy. But Tony wasn't sure what it was. Still, he felt oddly comforted. Slowly, hoping for another clue, he nodded. But the priest only smiled, nodded back, and then led him further down the hall.

The room they came into was quite impressive. The hall's floor was polished hardwood, the walls paneled and draped with various wall hangings, and the ceiling peaked with bare timber crossbars that were only slightly dusty. At the far end of the hall was a raised stage, and arranged in front of it were several couches and comfortable armchairs, currently empty. Everyone was gathered around a table to the side of the stage, which was set with food and drinks.

"Hey, Tony, did you get lost?" Abby asked as they approached. Her comment was greeted with general laughter.

"A little," Tony replied, "but I think lost sheep are Father Masterton's specialty."

The comment earned him a wave of laughter as well, and despite his anxiety, he couldn't help but join in. _Trust his friends_, the priest had said. All right, he would try.

"Now that you're here, we'll get started," Ducky said. "Although I suppose I could have started without Tony, since he figured it out this morning."

Immediately, all heads swiveled on him. "And you didn't tell us?" Abby said. "That's _totally_ unfair, Tony!"

"Hey, Ducky swore me to secrecy," Tony said, placing himself next to her, which meant that, as luck would have it, Kate was on his other side.

"Well, you could have given us a clue," she said. "Something. Anything."

Ducky cleared his throat, yanking their attention back to him. "Shakespeare," he said. "Shakespeare will be the focus of the evening. I've selected a handful of my favourite scenes for us to perform."

"Perform?" Gibbs asked, and Tony was glad he wasn't the focus of that dangerous tone.

Ducky was unfazed. He turned to look calmly at Gibbs. "Yes, Jethro, perform. None of us are Olivier, of course, but we can read a script and tread the boards. And the rest of us," he gestured broadly, but with a hint of iron, "will be an _appreciative _and _supportive _audience." Tony watched as Gibbs reluctantly subsided. Ducky smiled. "I thought perhaps you all might be reluctant to start, so I've asked my friends Reginald and Suzanna to lead us off. They were kind enough to let us use their hall tonight." He spread his arms, the ringmaster of this strange circus. "Take your plates, find your seats, and I'll decide what we're going to see first."

Tony made a beeline for the spread and piled a plate with the delicacies Ducky had provided. One thing about the man, he did have good taste when it came to food. All seats near Kate were taken, though, so he settled himself in one of the armchairs and balanced his plate on the side. Ducky was on the stage, talking quietly with Father Masterton and a woman Tony hadn't been introduced to. He handed them each a stack of paper, and from his vantage point, Tony could see that they had been marked with highlighter. Ducky thought of everything.

"Ready, then?" Ducky said to the two.

"Of course, Donald," the woman said.

Ducky nodded, then stepped down off the stage as the two performers conversed a little more, then took places. Ducky sat down in the armchair next to Tony. "All right. The Taming of the Shrew, Act Two, Scene One, Lines 180 to 280. When you're ready."

Although he couldn't quite forget about Henry Five, Act Five, Scene Two, Tony found it pushed to the back of his mind as the evening progressed. The transformation started with the initial scene between the priest and his wife, which they played with such brilliance that he could almost believe that they weren't married, and were in fact in the process of negotiating supremacy in their newly formed relationship. Suzanna even delivered a realistic slap when called for in the stage directions. When they came to the end of the scene, they bowed to their audience's applause, then came down off the stage calling for the next people to go up and outdo them. The slight level of competition continued. Even Gibbs did his best to ham it up, as much as a straight-laced Marine gunnery sergeant could. Following The Taming of the Shrew, Ducky went up on stage with Abby, Kate, and Suzanna, to play Act One, Scene One, Lines 31 to 118 from Lear, and Tony nearly killed himself laughing at Abby playing Cordelia. Then Gibbs, McGee and Tony found themselves on stage for Act Two, Scene One of As You Like It, with Tony covering the roles of both Amiens and the Second Lord, and McGee, with gradually growing confidence, reading out the First Lord's role. Scenes from Hamlet, Much Ado, Romeo and Juliet, and others followed, and Tony could see everyone enjoying themselves as they tried to be the best actors they could possibly be.

They were all laughing and talking, collapsed on the chairs and couches, when Ducky came back from his script table with several stacks of paper. "Last one for the evening, my friends. It's getting late."

Suddenly, Tony's good cheer disappeared. If this was the last one, and they hadn't yet performed…

"Henry the Fifth, Act Five, Scene Two," Ducky announced. "After a decisive victory at Agincourt, Henry and his lords come to seek peace with the defeated French king. Caitlyn, this is where your French will come in handy." He handed her a script.

"We'll see how badly I mangle it," she said, smiling.

"Abby, amusing or serious?"

"Amusing, definitely," she said, holding her hand out.

"You'll play Alice, then, and Suzanna, you'll play Queen Isabel." He handed them their scripts. "Now," he said, turning to where the men were sitting, "we need a Henry."

Tony's heart was pounding, and he couldn't look at anything but his knees, so it was a moment before he realized that Ducky had walked over to them, and was holding a script out in front of him. He looked up at it, then at Ducky. "Me?" he asked, unable to believe it.

"Yes, Tony. You." Ducky dropped the script onto his lap when it was clear that Tony wasn't going to take it. "Jethro, care to play the French king?"

"Wait a minute," Tony said. "You're not casting Gibbs as Henry?"

He tried not to notice everyone looking at him. Ducky turned back to him and smiled. "No, I'm not."

"Why not?" _Stupid, stupid, just shut up before he changes his mind…_

"Let me ask you something, Tony, and I mean no offense to either of you. King Henry is a man who, for two full plays prior to this one, was a scallywag, a layabout, an all-around ruffian with no sense of responsibility or duty, and who at this point has only just achieved a level of maturity that allows him to rule. Now, who do you think is more suited to play the man? You?" He turned his head and looked at Gibbs, who was looking on with somewhat hidden amusement. "Or Jethro?"

"Point taken, Ducky," Gibbs said. "Stop complaining, Tony."

No response was required to that order, and Ducky continued, casting McGee as Westmoreland, Father Masterton as Burgundy, and himself as Exeter. Tony sat there, staring at the script in his lap, unable to believe his good fortune. _He_ was going to play Henry. _He_ was going to kiss Kate, not Gibbs!

Wait a minute. _He_ was going to kiss Kate. In front of everyone. Oh no.

"Something else wrong, Tony?" Ducky asked.

Tony looked up. "Well, see, I followed your advice this morning and looked up this scene…"

"And?"

"Well… Henry kisses Katharine." Kate's eyes shot up from her perusal of her script and met his, and for a brief second he saw her understanding of his mood and her sudden realization of what this meant reflected in her eyes.

"Come now, you're not afraid of Caitlyn, are you?" Ducky said, turning to look at her. "You won't kneecap him or some other such thing, will you, my dear?"

"I'll try to restrain myself," she said dryly.

"Well then, there are no problems. Come along then. Places, everyone. All on for the opening."

His mind racing, Tony stood up and walked up the stairs to the stage. He hadn't considered the consequences of Ducky casting anyone else as Henry. He should have. But it was too late now. He just had to throw himself in and hope for the best.

"English over here, and French over there," Ducky was saying. "And we should have a throne centre stage, don't you think?"

"Absolutely," Father Masterton replied. He crossed the stage and grabbed one of the serviceable wooden chairs that had served Abby as a balcony. Setting it down in the middle of the stage, he made a great show of dusting it off. "There, how's that?"

"Perfect," Ducky said. "Everyone ready?"

From opposite sides of the stage, Tony looked at Kate, and she looked at him. Subtly, she nodded. He felt slightly reassured. Between the two of them, they would work it out.

"Right. Tony, the first line is yours. Lead us off."

Tony looked down at his script, read the stage directions, braced himself, then raised his head and looked around. McGee, Ducky, and Father Masterton had arranged themselves behind him in a phalanx. On the other side of the stage, Gibbs had extended an arm to Suzanna, and Abby and Kate were behind him. Abby seemed to be pretending there were a bunch of French Lords with them as well. Ah, such was the plight of budget theatre. Tony took a breath, met Gibbs' eyes, and stepped forward. Gibbs did as well, and they met centre stage, on either side of the chair.

"Peace to this meeting, wherefore we are met!" Tony read. "Unto our brother France," he nodded to Gibbs, "and to our sister," to Suzanna, "Health and fair time of day; joy and good wishes To our most fair and princely cousin Katharine;" he met Kate's eyes for a moment, "And, as a branch and member of this royalty, By whom this great assembly is contriv'd, We do salute you, Duke of Burgundy; And, princes French, and peers, health to you all!" He bowed, but not too deeply. After all, he was the victorious one here.

Gibbs looked at his script. "Right joyous are we to behold your face, Most worthy brother England; fairly met! So are you, princes English, every one." He bowed as well, deeper than Tony's.

Suzanna spoke then, her voice expressive of deep relief. "So happy be the issue, brother England, Of this good day and of this gracious meeting As we are now glad to behold your eyes; Your eyes, which hitherto have borne in them Against the French that met them in their bent The fatal balls of murdering basilisks. The venom of such looks, we fairly hope, Have lost their quality; and that this day Shall change all griefs and quarrels into love." She glanced briefly over her shoulder at Kate.

Tony too looked at Kate. "To cry amen to that, thus we appear."

Suzanna smiled at the men behind Tony. "You English princes all, I do salute you."

Father Masterton stepped forward, and Tony allowed himself to be pushed backwards, giving the expressive priest enough room for his gestures. "My duty to you both, on equal love, Great Kings of France and England! That I have labour'd, With all my wits, my pains, and strong endeavours, To bring your most imperial Majesties Unto this bar and royal interview, Your mightiness on both parts best can witness. Since then my office hath so far prevail'd That, face to face and royal eye to eye, You have congreeted, let it not disgrace me If I demand, before this royal view, What rub or what impediment there is, Why that the naked, poor, and mangled Peace, Dear nurse of arts, plenties, and joyful births, Should not in this best garden of the world, Our fertile France, put up her lovely visage? Alas, she hath from France too long been chas'd, And all her husbandry doth lie on heaps, Corrupting in it own fertility. Her vine, the merry cheerer of the heart, Unpruned dies; her hedges even-pleach'd, Like prisoners wildly overgrown with hair, Put forth disorder'd twigs; her fallow leas The darnel, hemlock, and rank fumitory,  
Doth root upon, while that the coulter rusts That should deracinate such savagery; The even mead, that erst brought sweetly forth The freckled cowslip, burnet, and green clover, Wanting the scythe, all uncorrected, rank, Conceives by idleness, and nothing teems But hateful docks, rough thistles, kexes, burs, Losing both beauty and utility; And as our vineyards, fallows, meads, and hedges, Defective in their natures, grow to wildness. Even so our houses and ourselves and children Have lost, or do not learn for want of time, The sciences that should become our country; But grow like savages,--as soldiers will That nothing do but meditate on blood,-- To swearing and stern looks, diffus'd attire, And everything that seems unnatural. Which to reduce into our former favour You are assembled; and my speech entreats That I may know the let, why gentle Peace Should not expel these inconveniences And bless us with her former qualities."

Tony stepped forward and put a hand on Masterton's shoulder. In a slightly chiding tone, he said, "If, Duke of Burgundy, you would the peace, Whose want gives growth to the imperfections Which you have cited, you must buy that peace With full accord to all our just demands; Whose tenours and particular effects You have enschedul'd briefly in your hands."

Masterton shrank a little, and said demurely, "The King hath heard them; to the which as yet There is no answer made."

Tony looked at Gibbs, right in the eye. "Well, then, the peace," he said calmly, "Which you before so urg'd, lies in his answer." Strangely, his heart beat faster, and he continued staring Gibbs in the eye long after he usually would have stopped. Henry would never have yielded, so neither did Tony.

Gibbs stared at him, and his eyes narrowed slightly, calculating. Then he looked at his script. "I have but with a cursorary eye O'erglanc'd the articles. Pleaseth your Grace To appoint some of your council presently To sit with us once more, with better heed To re-survey them, we will suddenly Pass our accept and peremptory answer."

"Brother, we shall. Go, uncle Exeter," Tony turned to the men behind him, "And brother Clarence, and you, brother Gloucester, Warwick, and Huntington, go with the King; And take with you free power to ratify, Augment, or alter, as your wisdoms best Shall see advantageable for our dignity, Anything in or out of our demands, And we'll consign thereto." He turned back to Suzanna. "Will you, fair sister, Go with the princes, or stay here with us?"

Suzanna curtseyed (a strange sight, as she was in jeans and sweater). "Our gracious brother, I will go with them. Haply a woman's voice may do some good, When articles too nicely urg'd be stood on."

Reading just ahead in his script, Tony said, "Yet leave our cousin Katharine here with us:" he looked up, and caught Kate in his gaze. "She is our capital demand, compris'd Within the fore-rank of our articles."

Suzanna looked at Kate, then back at Tony. "She hath good leave," she said.

With the solemnity due the scene, the others left the stage, leaving Tony, still standing by the chair, and Kate and Abby, standing off to the side. Tony waited to speak until they were all seated in the couches. Slowly, he walked around the chair, approaching Kate and Abby from the side. Deftly, Kate moved away from him, startling Abby, who quickly caught up.

This was where he was in trouble. This was Henry pleading his suit to Katharine, using lover's words, words that Tony wanted to say to Kate. The danger here was to forget. And yet…

"Fair Katharine, and most fair, Will you vouchsafe to teach a soldier terms Such as will enter at a lady's ear And plead his love-suit to her gentle heart?" He kept his voice low and soft, his eyes on Kate's except when he needed to look at the script. Still, they circled slowly.

In a perfectly atrocious French accent, Kate replied. "Your Majesty shall mock me; I cannot speak your England."

Their audience laughed, and Kate grinned out at them. Tony tried to keep a straight face, but couldn't. Gallantly, he carried on. "O fair Katharine, if you will love me soundly with your French heart, I will be glad to hear you confess it brokenly with your English tongue." He paused in his steps for a moment. "Do you like me, Kate?" he asked hesitantly.

Kate looked at him, and a familiar warmth rose in her eyes for a second before she went back to hamming it up. "Pardonnez-moi, I cannot tell wat is "like me.""

The words were so perfect. They came out of him in a needful whisper, though he tried to stop it. "An angel is like you, Kate, and you are like an angel."

Kate seemed startled for a moment, and there was a noticeable pause before she turned to Abby. "Que dit-il? Que je suis semblable a les anges?" Her actual French was much better than her accent.

"Oui, vraiment, sauf votre grace, ainsi dit-il." Abby's, on the other hand, was atrocious.

Tony rode over the laughter and Abby's bow. "I said so, dear Katharine; and I must not blush to affirm it."

Kate laughed. "O bon Dieu! les langues des hommes sont pleines de tromperies."

Mimicking confusion, Tony turned to Abby. "What says she, fair one?" That got him a laugh too, from Abby. "That the tongues of men are full of deceits?"

Abby seemed to tire of their circling. She plopped herself down in the chair and propped her script up on the knee she slung over the arm. Her French accent was about as bad as her French. "Oui, dat de tongues of de mans is be full of deceits: dat is de Princess."

Tony turned to Kate again. Despite the situation, he was encouraged by the look in her eyes. "The Princess is the better Englishwoman. I' faith, Kate, my wooing is fit for thy understanding: I am glad thou canst speak no better English; for if thou couldst, thou wouldst find me such a plain king that thou wouldst think I had sold my farm to buy my crown." The audience laughed. Well, it was a funny line. But the next ones… "I know no ways to mince it in love, but directly to say," here it came, could he make it impersonal? ""I love you";" no, he couldn't. He didn't dare look anywhere else but Kate, but he could see in her eyes that he hadn't succeeded. It hadn't been Henry speaking; it had been Tony. He hurried through the rest of the lines. "then if you urge me farther than to say, "Do you in faith?" I wear out my suit. Give me your answer; i' faith, do; and so clap hands and a bargain. How say you, lady?" He held out his hand to her.

Kate looked at it, then up at him. She crossed her arms over her chest, the script dangling at her side. "Sauf votre honneur, me understand well." She turned her back on him.

_Pull it together, man! It's a play!_ "Marry, if you would put me to verses, or to dance for your sake, Kate, why you undid me; for the one, I have neither words nor measure, and for the other I have no strength in measure, yet a reasonable measure in strength." He approached her, and she turned around. "If I could win a lady at leap-frog, or by vaulting into my saddle with my armour on my back, under the correction of bragging be it spoken, I should quickly leap into a wife. Or if I might buffet for my love, or bound my horse for her favours, I could lay on like a butcher and sit like a jack-an-apes, never off." His world narrowed to her eyes. There was nothing else but them, and the words on the page. His voice softened. "But, before God, Kate, I cannot look greenly, nor gasp out my eloquence, nor I have no cunning in protestation; only downright oaths, which I never use till urg'd, nor never break for urging. If thou canst love a fellow of this temper, Kate, whose face is not worth sunburning, that never looks in his glass for love of anything he sees there," he joined her in a little grin, "let thine eye be thy cook. I speak to thee plain soldier." He reached out and took her free hand in his. "If thou canst love me for this, take me; if not, to say to thee that I shall die, is true; but for thy love, by the Lord, no; yet I love thee too. And while thou liv'st, dear Kate, take a fellow of plain and uncoined constancy; for he perforce must do thee right, because he hath not the gift to woo in other places; for these fellows of infinite tongue, that can rhyme themselves into ladies' favours, they do always reason themselves out again." He could have been talking about himself, before Kate. How ironic! "What! a speaker is but a prater: a rhyme is but a ballad. A good leg will fall; a straight back will stoop; a black beard will turn white; a curl'd pate will grow bald; a fair face will wither; a full eye will wax hollow; but a good heart, Kate," he raised her hand and pressed it to his chest, "is the sun and the moon; or rather the sun and not the moon; for it shines bright and never changes, but keeps his course truly. If thou would have such a one, take me; and take me, take a soldier; take a soldier, take a king." He looked down into her eyes, and she looked up into his, and it was a long moment before either of them realized that they weren't alone and they weren't done. Hurriedly, Tony looked at his script. "And what say'st thou then to my love? Speak, my fair, and fairly, I pray thee."

Kate seemed a little flustered. She pulled her hand away from his and stepped back several paces. She looked at her script as though seeking comfort from it. Her accent disappeared. "Is it possible that I should love the enemy of France?"

_Right, back to the script. Good idea._ "No; it is not possible you should love the enemy of France, Kate; but, in loving me, you should love the friend of France; for I love France so well that I will not part with a village of it, I will have it all mine; and, Kate, when France is mine and I am yours, then yours is France and you are mine."

"I cannot tell what is that."

"No, Kate? I will tell thee in French; which I am sure will hang upon my tongue like a new-married wife about her husband's neck, hardly to be shook off." Hoping to drive away the intimacy that had fallen over them, he desperately hammed the French. "Je quand sur le possession de France, et quand vous avez le possession de moi,--let me see, what then? Saint Denis be my speed!--donc votre est France et vous etes mienne. It is as easy for me, Kate, to conquer the kingdom as to speak so much more French. I shall never move thee in French, unless it be to laugh at me.

She _was_ laughing, with an affectionate light in her eyes. "Sauf votre honneur, le Francais que vous parlez, il est meilleur que l'Anglois lequel je parle."

He laughed with her. "No, faith, is't not, Kate; but thy speaking of my tongue, and I thine, most truly-falsely, must needs be granted to be much at one. But, Kate, dost thou understand thus much English: canst thou love me?"

Her expression became serious. She looked at him, then down at the script. "I cannot tell," she said, but looking up, the answer was written on her face, and it was opposite of the words.

Flights of birds erupted from his heart, and he grinned, suddenly giddy with delight. She could! She _could_ love him! His joy infected the next lines. "Can any of your neighbours tell, Kate? I'll ask them. Come, I know thou lovest me; and at night, when you come into your closet, you'll question this gentlewoman about… me…" he had motioned to Abby, turned to look at her, and her expression hit him. It was one of interest, shock, and amusement, and she looked back and forth between the two of them. Suddenly, awareness of the others in the room crashed down on him again, and he lost his place. Quickly, he found it again, but now he felt the eyes of the audience on him. He didn't dare look at Kate. He knew how it would look (guilty, uncomfortable), but he kept his eyes on the page. "And I know, Kate, you will to her dispraise those parts in me that you love with your heart. But, good Kate, mock me mercifully; the rather, gentle princess, because I love thee cruelly. If ever thou beest mine, Kate, as I have a saving faith within me tells me thou shalt, I get thee with scambling, and thou must therefore needs prove a good soldier-breeder. Shall not thou and I, between Saint Denis and Saint George, compound a boy, half French, half English, that shall go to Constantinople and take the Turk by the beard? Shall we not? What say'st thou, my fair flower-de-luce?"

Kate's voice brought him back, soft, sweet, infinitely understanding. "I do not know that."

He looked up at her, and lost himself again. "No; 'tis hereafter to know, but now to promise. Do but now promise, Kate, you will endeavour for your French part of such a boy; and for my English moiety, take the word of a king and a bachelor. How answer you, la plus belle Katherine du monde, mon tres cher et divin deesse?"

She laughed again, her accent returning slightly with the words. "Your Majesty has fausse French enough to deceive the most sage damoiselle that is in France."

He laughed as well, and crossed the stage towards her, dropping to his knees in front of her. "Now, fie upon my false French! By mine honour, in true English, I love thee, Kate; by which honour I dare not swear thou lovest me; yet my blood begins to flatter me that thou dost, notwithstanding the poor and untempering effect of my visage." She grinned down on him as he indicated his face. "Now, beshrew my father's ambition! he was thinking of civil wars when he got me; therefore was I created with a stubborn outside, with an aspect of iron, that, when I come to woo ladies, I fright them." He reached up and took her hand again, his voice softening. "But, in faith, Kate, the elder I wax, the better I shall appear. My comfort is, that old age, that ill layer up of beauty, can do no more spoil upon my face. Thou hast me, if thou hast me, at the worst; and thou shalt wear me, if thou wear me, better and better; and therefore tell me, most fair Katharine, will you have me?" She looked away a little, almost uncomfortable. "Put off your maiden blushes; avouch the thoughts of your heart with the looks of an empress;" he stood up, and held her hand at arm's length, "take me by the hand, and say, Harry of England, I am thine; which word thou shalt no sooner bless mine ear withal, but I will tell thee aloud, England is thine," he pulled her closer with each phrase, "Ireland is thine, France is thine, and Henry Plantagenet is thine; who, though I speak it before his face, if he be not fellow with the best king, thou shalt find the best king of good fellows. Come, your answer in broken music; for thy voice is music and thy English broken; therefore, queen of all, Katharine, break thy mind to me in broken English. Wilt thou have me?"

Again, time seemed to stop, and she looked up at him, not as Katharine, but as Kate, and he looked down at her as Tony, not Henry. Then she shook herself, pulled away and walked past him, back towards centre stage. "That is as it shall please le roi mon pere," she said softly.

Le roi son pere. _Gibbs._

He turned, and as he did so, he looked at the audience. He hardly wanted to, but he had to know. McGee and the Mastertons looked thrilled with the performance. Ducky did too, but there was an undertone of calculation in his features that indicated he knew there was something deeper happening. Gibbs… Tony swallowed hard. There was an expression of frostiness, of dissection on their boss's face. He knew. They might be able to buy off the others, but they'd never be able to fool their boss again.

His gaze tracked naturally to Kate. She had turned around and was looking at him. He could see that she too knew that they'd come too far, and that it was too late. As he looked at her, something hardened within him. Why did they need Gibbs' permission? Why did they need to hide it from him and everyone? He didn't need to look at the script for the next lines. He delivered them in forceful softness. "Nay, it will please him well, Kate; it shall please him, Kate."

She smiled at him. "Then it shall also content me."

He crossed to her and seized her hand again. "Upon that I kiss your hand, and call you my queen."

With a laugh and a teasing look, she ripped her hand out of his and danced away. "Laissez, mon seigneur, laissez, laissez! Ma foi, je ne veux point que vous abaissez votre grandeur en baisant la main d'une indigne serviteur. Excusez-moi, je vous supplie, mon tres-puissant seigneur."

He followed her, around the chair with Abby still in it. "Then I will kiss your lips, Kate."

She halted on one side, and he on the other, and with scripts in the hands that balanced on the back of the chair, they leaned in over top of Abby, who slid down in the seat. "Les dames et demoiselles pour etre baisees devant leur noces, il n'est pas la coutume de France."

Tony looked down at Abby and said, "Madame my interpreter, what says she?"

"Dat it is not be de fashion pour les ladies of France,--I cannot tell wat is baiser en Anglish."

Tony looked back up at Kate. "To kiss."

"Your Majestee entendre bettre que moi."

His eyes never left Kate's. There was challenge in them. "It is not a fashion for the maids in France to kiss before they are married, would she say?"

"Oui, vraiment," replied Abby. And with that, she slid all the way out of the seat, spun around, and sat down near the edge of the stage, looking at them.

Now it was time. He hardly needed to look at the page; the words had been burned into him that morning, but then it had been someone else saying them, not him. And this was their last chance to salvage their secrecy. Could they do it? Did he even want to? Softly, he spoke. "O Kate, nice customs curtsy to great kings. Dear Kate, you and I cannot be confined within the weak list of a country's fashion. We are the makers of manners, Kate; and the liberty that follows our places stops the mouth of all find-faults, as I will do yours, for upholding the nice fashion of your country in denying me a kiss; therefore, patiently and yielding." _Last chance, last chance! _his mind screamed at him, and from the look in her eyes, hers was saying the same thing. Then it was over, his lips touched her gently, and he knew, no matter what they did, it was no use. The gesture was too familiar. He pulled back, biting down on his lips slightly. He and Kate looked at each other, and he knew that she knew. He glanced at the script, but he knew the next words. "You have witchcraft in your lips, Kate; there is more eloquence in a sugar touch of them than in the tongues of the French council; and they should sooner persuade Harry of England than a general petition of monarchs." She smiled at him, and he smiled back at her. Seeing motion out of the corner of his eye, he said the last line. "Here comes your father."

There was a bustle as the rest got up from their seats and quickly made their way back on stage. Tony retreated to one side, and Kate to the other, with Abby falling in beside her. Masterton strutted onto the stage, throwing his hand in the air. "God save your Majesty! My royal cousin, teach you our princess English?"

"I would have her learn, my fair cousin, how perfectly I love her; and that is good English."

Masterton looked over at Kate. "Is she not apt?"

Tony smiled. "Our tongue is rough, coz, and my condition is not smooth; so that, having neither the voice nor the heart of flattery about me, I cannot so conjure up the spirit of love in her, that he will appear in his true likeness."

Masterton laughed. "Pardon the frankness of my mirth, if I answer you for that. If you would conjure in her, you must make a circle; if conjure up Love in her in his true likeness, he must appear naked and blind. Can you blame her then, being a maid yet ros'd over with the virgin crimson of modesty, if she deny the appearance of a naked blind boy in her naked seeing self? It were, my lord, a hard condition for a maid to consign to."

"Yet they do wink and yield, as love is blind and enforces."

"They are then excus'd, my lord, when they see not what they do."

Tony waved his hand and said, "Then, good my lord, teach your cousin to consent winking."

Masterton chuckled. "I will wink on her to consent, my lord, if you will teach her to know my meaning; for maids, well summer'd and warm kept, are like flies at Bartholomew-tide, blind, though they have their eyes; and then they will endure handling, which before would not abide looking on."

With an air of exasperation, Tony said, "This moral ties me over to time and a hot summer; and so I shall catch the fly, your cousin, in the latter end, and she must be blind too."

Masterton demurred. "As love is, my lord, before it loves."

Tony turned his attention to the whole assembly, but studiously avoided Gibbs' eyes. "It is so; and you may, some of you, thank love for my blindness, who cannot see many a fair French city for one fair French maid that stands in my way."

He had no choice but to look at Gibbs; the next lines were his. "Yes, my lord, you see them perspectively, the cities turn'd into a maid; for they are all girdled with maiden walls that war hath never ent'red."

Oh, the look. The pure, calculated, intimidating, Gibbs-in-prime-interrogation-form look that he was being subjected to. Tony's mouth went dry, but he held himself up, and didn't back down. He said his next line. "Shall Kate be my wife?"

Gibbs's eyes twitched slightly, but he continued with the script. "So please you."

This wasn't over, he knew that. But he nodded. "I am content, so the maiden cities you talk of may wait on her; so the maid that stood in the way for my wish shall show me the way to my will."

"We have consented to all terms of reason."

Relieved for an excuse to break stares with Gibbs, Tony turned to the men gathered behind him. "Is't so, my lords of England?"

McGee fumbled his lines a little. "The king hath granted every article; His daughter first, and then in sequel all, According to their firm proposed natures."

Ducky proved better with his. "Only he hath not yet subscribed this: where your Majesty demands, that the King of France, having any occasion to write for matter of grant, shall name your Highness in this form and with this addition, in French, Notre tres-cher fils Henri, Roi d'Angleterre, Heritier de France; and thus in Latin, Praeclarissimus filius noster Henricus, Rex Angliae et Haeres Franciae."

Gibbs broke in quickly, drawing Tony's gaze back to him. "Nor this I have not, brother, so denied But our request shall make me let it pass."

Tony swallowed. Lord, the way life imitated art. Slowly, carefully, he said, "I pray you then, in love and dear alliance, Let that one article rank with the rest; And thereupon," he held out his hand, "give me your daughter."

Gibbs looked at him, and then at Kate, who at Tony's motion had come forwards to stand beside him. She looked at him calmly, and raised her hand. Slowly, Gibbs took it gently in his. He looked at her, then back at Tony, who still stood, hand out. Tony didn't dare look at Kate; this was between him and Gibbs now.

Gibbs looked at one, then the other, and then down at the script in his hands. Tony's heart was pounding. Gibbs would throw the script away if he wanted to. He'd yell at the both of them right here, right now, if he was so inclined. The silence extended. Finally, Gibbs raised his head, and reached out to place Kate's hand in Tony's. His strong hand pressed theirs together for a moment before he let go. "Take her," he said quietly. Tony couldn't stop himself from sagging a little in relief, and Kate's hand closed tightly on his as Gibbs read the rest of his lines. "Take her, fair son, and from her blood raise up Issue to me; that the contending kingdoms Of France and England, whose very shores look pale With envy of each other's happiness, May cease their hatred; and this dear conjunction Plant neighbourhood and Christian-like accord In their sweet bosoms, that never war advance His bleeding sword 'twixt England and fair France."

Gibbs nodded slightly to Tony as everyone on stage called out, "Amen!" He smiled a little, and his eyes warmed, and Tony was shocked to see approval there. He was so stunned that Kate had to elbow him in the ribs to get him to remember to read his next line.

"Now, welcome, Kate; and bear me witness all, That here I kiss her as my sovereign queen."

Another quick kiss, not in the stage directions, but called for in the text, while the others on stage hemmed and hawed and pretended to be trumpets, and then Suzanna stepped forward, smiling and happy, and faced them. Tony tucked Kate's arm tightly into his side. "God, the best maker of all marriages, Combine your hearts in one, your realms in one! As man and wife, being two, are one in love, So be there 'twixt your kingdoms such a spousal, That never may ill office, or fell jealousy, Which troubles oft the bed of blessed marriage, Thrust in between the paction of these kingdoms, To make divorce of their incorporate league; That English may as French, French Englishmen, Receive each other. God speak this Amen!"

"Amen!" Tony murmured as everyone else called it out loud. He looked down at Kate. She was smiling. The last lines were his, and he raised his script and said them in a loud and ringing voice. "Prepare we for our marriage; on which day, My Lord of Burgundy, we'll take your oath, And all the peers', for surety of our leagues, Then shall I swear to Kate, and you to me; And may our oaths well kept and prosperous be!"

"Well done!" Father Masterton led off the applause, but the others weren't long behind, and Tony dropped Kate's arm and put his script under one of his to clap as well. His entire body was buzzing. He couldn't stop grinning. Kate looked up at him and laughed. Then Masterton patted him on the back and shook his hand. "Well done, Tony! You did wonderfully!"

"Thank you, Father."

"You see? You had nothing to worry about."

Nothing to worry about? Tony almost laughed. Power and confidence were still singing through his veins, but part of him couldn't forget the sickness with which he'd approached the evening. Masterton took Kate by the arm and escorted her off the stage, chiding her slightly about her French accent. Tony watched them for a second, then turned his head back. He nearly jumped. Gibbs was _right there_. Normally, he would have stepped away, but he knew this time he couldn't. So he held his ground and looked Gibbs in the eye.

Gibbs examined him for a moment. When he spoke, it was quietly and with a surprisingly mild tone for the words. "The less I know, the better," he said. "Keep it out of the office. Keep it out of the team. And if you hurt her–"

"I love her," Tony interrupted, just as quiet. "And it's been out of the office and out of the team for over a month, Gibbs. If you didn't know anything before now, you won't know it after."

Gibbs' eyebrow rose slightly. Tony waited for the slap down, but it never came. "All right," Gibbs said instead. "Then we're clear." He clapped Tony companionably on the arm. "Good work tonight." Then he walked away.

Tony stood on the stage. Part of him expected Gibbs to smack the back of his head on his way by, but he didn't. He heard his boss' footsteps down the stairs and out onto the hardwood of the hall, and his voice congratulating Ducky for the success of the evening. Still, Tony stood there, trying to intellectually assimilate what had just happened. Only when Abby teased him about wanting to be a professional actor, since he couldn't seem to leave the stage, did he move.

The party dissolved in a blur of thought and action. Abby and McGee convinced Kate to leave pretty much right away, as it was a bit of a drive back to headquarters to pick up their vehicles. Gibbs hung on for a little longer, but left shortly after the other three. Tony sat in one of the chairs with a plate of food that somehow had made it into his hands. He heard Ducky behind him, at the script table with Father Masterton and his wife. They laughed about something, and then there were footsteps. Ducky appeared in his peripheral. He came around, looked down at Tony for a moment, then took the arm of one of the other chairs and pulled it out of line until it sat facing Tony. Then he took a seat. "I'd say this evening was quite enjoyable. Wouldn't you, Tony?"

"Ducky." The older man looked at him expectantly. "You didn't know about Kate and I before tonight, did you?"

Ducky's expression was gentle. "No, dear boy. I didn't."

"So why did you tell me to look into Henry Five, so it wouldn't catch me unprepared?"

Ducky tipped his head slightly. "Tony, can I be brutally honest?"

Tony set the plate down on his lap and leaned back. "Please."

"Jethro is a good man, and a dear friend of mine," the doctor said, speaking like a man who was choosing his words with care. "But so are you. Moreover, you're both very good at what you do. And sometimes I think Jethro forgets that, because despite your similarities, you're very different in personality. I thought it was high time to remind him that you are as much an adult as he is, in your own way."

Tony contemplated the explanation for a moment. "So… you'd intended me for Harry's role this morning."

"Yes."

Tony tried to figure it out. Finally, he shook his head. "I still don't get it."

Ducky smiled again, this time amused. "Don't you? Tony, I told you to look up the scene so that you would know that you would have to kiss Kate. I was trying to prepare you for that arduous task, in my own subtle way." Tony stared at him, and his smile broadened. He got up and patted Tony on the shoulder. "Go home, Tony. I think everything that has transpired tonight will be clearer in the morning." He stepped past Tony's chair, but then stopped. "Oh, Tony." Tony turned in the chair, still a little numb. "I'm very happy for you. You and she will be good for each other."

Something about those words broke his trance. "Thanks, Ducky. You're right."

The doctor nodded. "Go home," he said again. "Have a good night, Tony."

"Can I help clean up?"

"No, thank you. Reginald, Suzanna and I will take care of it."

So in short order, Tony bid his goodnights to the pastor and his wife, and found himself out in his car. Ducky was right. The events of the day turned over in his head in a wild jumble of secrets, miscommunication, and actions, but solid threads emerged. He loved Kate. Kate loved him. Gibbs wasn't going to say anything. And Ducky approved.

His cell was in his hands, his fingers dialing a familiar number. Then it was at his ear, and he was listening to the ringing. When she answered, she did so with her professional voice, so he knew Abby and McGee were still in the car. "Kate Todd."

"Kate, it's me."

"Yes?"

"I love you."

There was a pause on the other end. "I see."

"I wanted you to know. I wanted to say it to you for the first time in person, but I guess I did that on stage tonight, didn't I?"

"Yes, I think that's right."

He smiled at the vague answers she had to give. "My poor girl. Forced to hold her vocabulary back."

"That's right. But not all the time, though."

"When?"

"Tomorrow?"

The power still sang in his veins. The love still tingled in his fingers. "No no, Kate. Too far away."

"When, then?"

"Tonight. Kate, I want you to come over tonight."

Another pause. "Are you sure?" He didn't imagine the hopeful but hesitant tone.

"Yes. Tonight. I want to show you how much I love you."

"All right."

"That didn't take much convincing."

"Of course it didn't." The annoyance was only partly faked, he was sure. "I'm driving, so I have to go."

She hung up without saying anything more. Words that she might have said seemed to echo from the phone. He smiled and ended the call, then started his car. He wouldn't take any shortcuts this time. He wanted to be waiting for Kate when she came. He wanted to open the door when she knocked and tell her again that he loved her, even before she could say anything, and then take her hands and show her that he did.

The engine roared as he pushed the gas pedal down and started for home.


End file.
